The Unification War
by Autobot-Outcast
Summary: The Resisty has grown a lot. Ever since their new Fleet Admiral took over and actually organised them, they've been gaining ground. What started as a single poorly-conceived attack has now become a threat to the expansion of the Irken Empire. When the Empire is threatened, they send an Observer. Contains: Space battles, irken competence, Resisty competence, headcanon, OCs.
1. Carrier Group Seven

Post-Captain De'Vij sat in the command chair of Resisty carrier _Survivor_ and contemplated his career choice.

_I should have gotten a posting in one of the sleeper cells_, he thought to himself. _At least then I'd have something to do._

As one of the first races ever conquered, the tomogrians had been fighting the irken empire for as long as they could remember. They were one of the founding species of the Resisty, and were often looked to for advice. They also thought very quickly and had excellent memories, due to a fast metabolism and an average lifespan of fifty years.

De'Vij clicked his mandibles together. He was only twelve, for crying out loud. He wasn't even old enough to graduate university, and he was supposed to lead this ragtag task force that had no goal other than 'fight irkens'? Yeah, that was a plan, all right.

His XO, a hypurion whose name was unpronounceable but who went by 'Janali' floated over. [Anything new, sir?] he asked in the whistling trill that was the hypurioni language.

"Nothing, zero, zilch and a whole lot of nada," De'Vij replied. "Anything on sensors?"

[There was a comet, but it was too small for target practice.]

Damn. There went their one decent chance for entertainment around here.

"You have the bridge, X," he said. "I'll be in my quarters. Call me if anything interesting shows up."

* * *

A short light-jump away, the irken ship _Sovereign_ sat with her patrol group. It wasn't much. Apart from the frigate, there were three light patrol ships with six fighters between them.

"That's confirmed, sir," said the terrified sensor operator. "We've located the Resisty carrier group."

The sensor master only nodded. While the crewman had done a good job and had no reason to be scared, it was against custom to reassure or congratulate subordinates.

He turned and walked back down the CIC to the command platform at the back, where a hologram of the _Sovereign_ took pride of place.

"Shipmaster!" He called. "We've found them. They're loitering in the space lane, waiting to ambush us. Just like he said."

The shipmaster nodded and turned to the irken on his left. "Officer Colmaj," he said, "you have the ship. I'm going up to get the Observer."

* * *

There were a lot of rumours about Observer Carapace. Some said he was a natural birth, who was recruited when he killed the death squad sent to exterminate him. Others said he was actually a new AI the Tallest were testing, who would one day replace them all. Others said he was actually a Firespitter in disguise.

But they all agreed on three things. He was tall. He was creepy. And he was a tactical genius.

The shipmaster pressed the call button outside his quarters, located one deck up from the CIC, and held his breath.

"Enter," a voice said. The door slid open.

The room beyond never failed to take the Shipmaster's breath away. It was filled with various holograms of alien art. There were dozens of pieces. Sculptures, statuettes, wall paintings, tapestries, even jewellery.

And sitting in the middle was the tallest irken the shipmaster had ever seen in person.

"Do you like them, shipmaster?" he said. "Each piece here is from one of the races in the Resisty. And each one is an insight."

The shipmaster didn't understand, and so he changed the subject.

"Observer, we have found the Resisty carrier group. They were exactly where you said they'd be. Should we call in the armada?"

"Holo off," the Observer said, and all the art in the room vanished, leaving just a bed, desk and a small lounge area.

"No, shipmaster," he said. "It is only a single carrier group. Two full plnurin war carriers, backed by twelve, maybe thirteen serrican destroyers. Nothing our group can't handle."

The shipmaster gulped. The Observer was actually planning to engage? But this was a recon group, at best.

"A-are you sure, sir?"

"Are you questioning your Observer?"

The shipmaster went pale. Observers were superior to all, acting as direct agents for the Tallest. They could give fleetmasters orders, and those orders would be followed without hesitation or question. They were responsible for covert action, black ops, internal affairs. Their authority was absolute, their very presence classified. And they had instant power of life or death over every irken alive.

"Never, sir," he managed to choke out. "The Observer's will be done."

Observer Carapace sighed slightly. The shipmaster would never learn to think for himself if he kept doing that.

"Very well, shipmaster. Return to your post, have the navigator plot a light-jump, and await my arrival. I will direct this battle personally."

The shipmaster saluted and was on his way out when he noticed that one of the statuettes, a twined pillar of gold and white stone, was still sitting on a pedestal. He paused to look at it for a split second.

"Yes, that one is real," the Observer said. "The one time that I failed to divine any insight from a species' artwork. Now, after decades of study, I think I am finally beginning to understand them."

"I'm sure that will be useful in the future, Observer."

"I doubt it," Carapace said, with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "I wound up destroying their world. Dismissed, shipmaster."

* * *

The irregular waves of blue light drifted by outside the forward viewports as the _Sovereign_ sailed on under T'chilen's slender fingers.

Her antennae curled slightly tighter as the _Strikefast_ drifted into their FTL wake. She tapped her comm button and said some truly unpleasant things to their helmsman, who corrected his position. As the flagship's helmsman, she had seniority.

She snapped off the comm and went back to watching her screens. She liked the quiet of the cockpit. Being in her own room, way out in front of the CIC, all on her own...it appealed to her. Made her glad she'd requested the transfer off the _Tyrannic_.

One of her displays flashed red, indicating two rels to FTL deceleration. She flicked her intercom.

"Shipmaster, we're two rels out. If you boys are done chest-slapping back there, I'd recommend we go to battle stations."

She flicked off the intercom before he could respond, and sat back to enjoy the quiet. She still had a few minutes before the copilot, TO and spotter came charging in.

* * *

Back in the CIC, the shipmaster was gritting his teeth. This helmsman was disruptive, antisocial and disrespectful. Unfortunately, she was also an officer, and she was exceptionally good at the helm. Skill and rank paid for a lot of wounded pride, especially considering how rarely they went together in this Tallest-forsaken navy.

Behind him the lift doors swished open, and he stepped to the side just in time for the Observer to sweep past him and up the short ramp to the TacMap.

The ship's hologram had been reduced in size and moved forward, to clear the command ramp for the TacMap. The TacMap itself displayed the enemy fleet in blue, with a red line indicating the _Sovereign_'s own arrival vector.

"Battle stations!" The shipmaster shouted, and all over the ship a flurry of activity broke out. Proud irken soldiers ran all over the place. They were putting on vac suits, readying small arms lockers, and generally being busy.

And the Observer stood calmly in the middle of it all, like the eye of a storm.

"Emergence in three...two...one..." said the helmsman.

At the 'zero' mark, the small task force appeared on the TacMap, exactly where the projections had put them.

"Drift under fifteen hundred clicks," the Observer said. "Very good, shipmaster. Now, scan for their command channel and hail them on it."

* * *

De'Vij was still fumbling with the clasp on his tunic as he ran back onto the bridge. "What's this about an attack?" He shouted over the blaring battle alarm.

[Calm yourself, captain,] Janali said. [It is not as serious as we first thought.]

"This is Observer Carapace of the Irken First Expansion Fleet," said a voice from the speaker on the command chair. "Please identify yourselves and state your intentions."

[He has been repeating this message for five minutes, sir. Then again, there's not much else he _can_ do.]

"How so?" asked De'Vij, still sounding worried. The empire didn't send Observers who couldn't do their jobs. There was a reason they were nicknamed 'the Hands of the Tallest'.

"Well, he doesn't exactly have a battle group, sir," said lieutenant H'Shi'Do. "We detect one frigate, three light patrol ships and six fighters. Hardly a threat. The _Survivor_ alone could deal with them. We have a thousand bibbelaronian drone fighters on board, plus the same again on the _Indy_."

It was true. The _Indefatigable_ and _Survivor_ were the best carriers in the fleet, and they had so many fighters that it wasn't even funny. Still, an Observer...

"Well, X?" De'Vij said as he sat down in the command chair. "They're hailing us. Shall we open a channel?"

He tapped the comm panel and, over the protests of his first officer, began to speak.

"This is Post-Captain De'Vij of the Resisty Seventh Carrier Group."

A few seconds went by.

"Greetings, Post-Captain," said the Observer. "Please explain to me the purpose of your task force."

"Our purpose is to prevent Irk from expanding, and to attempt the liberation of our people," De'Vij said levelly. "I am afraid I must ask you to withdraw from this sector, as it is under Resisty protection."

He expected shouting. He expected bluster. But the Observer merely...chuckled.

"I'm afraid that runs counter to our own mission," he said. "But if you and your co-conspirators surrender, I can ensure you are tried and sentenced fairly, instead of facing summary execution as rebels and traitors to the empire."

It was all said casually, calmly, and with a hint of amusement.

"With a fleet that size?" the captain retorted. "You couldn't even scratch our paint. What do you possibly have that could stop us?"

The Observer chuckled again. "Me," he said, and cut the communication.

De'Vij gave the order to launch half of the _Indefatigable_'s fighter contingent, and he wondered why the Observer's parting word was so troubling.

* * *

"Here they come," the shipmaster said. He was ashamed to admit his voice was a little bit trembly. "Five hundred starfighters. You see them?"

"Of course," said the Observer. "Pull all ships back and launch our fighters. Pull everyone back to sixteen-thousand clicks from the enemy fleet."

On the TacMap the Resisty had formed a defensive diamond around their carriers, with the fighters forming two external hemispheres, one inside the other.

"Why aren't they attacking?" The shipmaster asked.

"Because their drone fighters only have a range of fifteen-thousand clicks from their broadcast source."

And then holding so far away made perfect sense.

"Now," the Observer continued, "let's provoke them a bit. Communications, monitor everything. Fighter two, probe attack, vector one-one-seven by four-one. And order the _Surpriser, Strikefast_ and _Relentless_ into flanking escort position."

* * *

"Incoming!" shouted H'Shi'Do. "Single fighter."

"Does he think we're blind?" said the captain. "Outer group, intercept and destroy."

Thirty starfighters swung out of the picket line and shot towards the lone irken fighter. De'Vij watched the screens intently. But the fighters had barely settled into their attack vector when the irken broke off swung around in a tight curve, taking him back towards his own fleet.

[Doesn't he know we have him pinned to the wall?] asked Janali.

"Who knows what goes on in an irken Observer's head?" the captain replied. "All I know is that if this is his best, then they've been vastly over-selling their reputations."

"Skipper!" came H'Shi'Do's voice from tactical. "Same fighter, same vector!"

[Same response, then,] said the XO.

"Watch for any attempts at jamming," De'Vij said. "If the fighters lose our command signal, they go dormant."

"And explode ten minutes later," said the lieutenant. "Let's not forget the exploding."

On the screens the fighter veered off, exactly the same as last time. One of the patrol ships was also breaking away from the cluster around the frigate.

[What is that ship doing?]

"Moving to flank, sir, but it isn't attacking." H'Shi'Do sounded worried.

Back on the screens the fighter was coming in again.

"Same response," said the captain. "He's up to something, X."

[Perhaps he intends to drain them of fuel?]

"Unlikely. He knows that's only a quarter of our full compliment."

Always the same fighter on the same vector. Was he trying to find a weakness in the formation? Surely an Observer could do better than the same attack over and over.

Three more times the fighter sped in, and three more times it was repulsed. As the fourth approach began, the captain decided enough was enough.

"This is getting as boring as the wait," he said. "Order the _Indy_ to close in on the enemy fleet."

[Finally], Janali muttered. He tapped a comm console. [_Survivor_ to-]

"Hold it," interrupted De'Vij. Suddenly the scenario had changed. The fighter was retreating with their own three groups in pursuit, as before. But now the enemy fleet was driving hard towards the opening in the defensive screen.

[And so they make their mistake,] Janali said with a hint of satisfaction, his jellyfish-like body bobbing slightly. [Order the fighters to attack.]

Their CAG nodded and tapped his control board.

But the drones continued chasing the retreating irken fighter.

[Order them to attack!] the XO said, with a flash of the characteristic hypurioni panic when faced with the unexpected.

"They're not responding, X," said the captain.

[They are not being jammed, or they would shut down, but they are flying _away_ from us. _How can this be_?]

"Never mind the how," said the captain, clicking his mandibles in worry. "Here they come."

* * *

"How in blazes did you do that?" Said the shipmaster, once he regained the power of speech.

"Simple, really," said the Observer. "Those are bibbelaronian drone starfighters. They use a cyclical rolling encryption on their signals. But with so many fighters, the number of encryptions has to be limited, usually to three. I simply had comms record the signal they were expecting next, and use it to override the one they got."

The shipmaster's eyes widened in understanding.

"With the fighter always using the same vector, and the same fighters executing the same manoeuvre, the only thing that changed..."

"Was the encryption key. The secret to successful analysis, shipmaster. Whenever possible, reduce matters to a single variable."

The rest of the fighter screen wasn't waiting, and some of the inner screen were already active and preparing to engage.

"I don't think that's going to work for the rest of them, though."

"It does not have to." The Observer tapped the comm. "All vessels, attack pattern Imperator."

* * *

De'Vij was very worried now.

Sure, there was no way that a pitiful collection of patrol ships could possibly take down a carrier group. Then again, they just got past three groups of drone fighters without firing a shot, and that was supposed to be impossible too.

Whatever the Observer's next trick was going to be, the Post-Captain was positive he wasn't going to like it. Yet at the same time, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the strange efficiency of his opponent, and a tiny part of him was excited to find out what that trick was going to be.

He didn't have to wait for long. The irken ships and fighters were spreading out now, sacrificing joined shields for extra manoeuvring room. Whole swarms of the fighter grid were spreading out now, breaking their own formation to engage the irken vessels en masse.

The two groups were nearly in range of each other...

And the irken fighters each launched a single missile, while the three larger ships launched two each. They then veered off and began to retreat along the same vector.

In less than a second the fighters relayed the information back to the computers on their carrier, got their orders back, and fired, destroying all twelve projectiles. There was a strange haze that kept moving along the missiles path, though.

[A waste of effort,] said Janali. [That's why missiles are short-range-]

"Pull them back," said the captain as he realised what the haze was. But it was too late.

The twelve hazes hit twelve clusters of fighters, and there was a bright flash from each one. And the fighters went dark on all the control boards, reading as lost.

"Electroshock nets," H'Shi'Do muttered. They were usually on the antipersonnel scale, used to pacify unruly slaves.

De'Vij had to hand it to the Observer. Twelve fighter groups, out of action in one pass...

Out of action, but not out of the fight. He could only watch in horror as the fighters' own inertia carried them directly into the path of the twelve new fighter groups that had been tasked with pursuing the retreating irkens. Both groups disappeared in a series of massive explosions.

And suddenly, that entire side of the defensive screen was gone. There were no more drones to plug the hole with.

"Order the _Indy_ to prep all her remaining fighters," De'Vij said. "Launch them as soon as they can. And pull the flanking screen in to fill the gap!"

[What about our flanks?] asked the XO.

"If we don't fill that hole we won't have any flanks left to guard."

* * *

"Here they come, Observer," said the shipmaster.

He briefly wondered if this was what the _Surpriser_ had been moved to the flanks for. But as he looked at the TacMap it was still hanging in space, apparently being kept in reserve.

"I hope you have one grand daddy-robot-arm of an electroshock net up your sleeve, sir," he said.

"If my opponents are going to try this on a regular basis, I will certainly have to look into such a device," the Observer said dryly. "However, we do not need it right this moment. Communications, prepare to release a broad-spectrum jamming frequency."

"Sir, drone fighters are unjammable. They switch frequencies, follow pre-programmed orders-"

"Only if there are any left outside the jamming area, or there are other frequencies to switch to," the Observer said. "The broad-spectrum jamming will take care of one of these problems, and our opponent seems content to take care of the other."

And it was true. Every remaining fighter was now concentrated into a tight ball around the enemy fleet, well within a single ship's comm jamming range.

"What about our own comms, sir?"

"I would trust that irken warriors are more capable than drone fighters when it comes to independent thought," said Carapace. "Let us see if my theory is correct. Begin jamming...now."

* * *

For a single horrifying moment the bridge of the _Survivor_ was filled with an impossibly loud screech, like the roar of some ancient legendary monster. Then the poor comms tech hit the cutoff switch and everyone could hear again.

"Sir!" H'Shi'Do shouted. "We are being jammed! All fighters have gone completely dormant!"

[Impossible,] Janali said. [Find an open frequency and get them back.]

"Too late," said the captain, watching the screens as the irken ships flew from fighter group to fighter group, destroying them as they went with the typical ruthless efficiency of irken gunners.

The carrier group's destroyers decided to lend a hand, with several of them launching missile barrages at the irkens. The attacking fighters broke off in response, coming around to circle the carrier group. The missiles followed, locked on to the irkens' heat signatures.

The fighters wove an evasive course through the field of deactivated fighters, but the missiles were made by the vortians, meaning the hardware and software were almost impossible to fool.

The fighters circled around again, took up new vectors back towards the fight.

And then each one dropped something small from their tail that quickly expanded.

De'Vij stiffened as the well-remembered hazy clouds began to form. "More electroshock nets," he said, mainly to himself, as the missiles hit and their electronics went dead.

Only once again, the Observer wasn't merely on the defensive. He'd also turned it into an attack. As the bridge crew watched in impotent fury the missiles slammed into three of the destroyers, blowing off large chunks of their hulls.

Then, without warning, one of the destroyers exploded.

[This is not possible,] said Janali. [Not with a single salvo.]

"Everything the Observers do is impossible," said the captain. "He probably hit a weak spot. He'll be targeting the same spot on the rest of them, watch."

And he was right. Each irken fighter would swoop in close, dodging the few scattered laser blasts the destroyers were able to fire, and launch a single disruptor torpedo. De'Vij noticed that it was the aft fuel line, which connected the reactor core to the massive external engines.

"We have to retreat," he said. "We can't stop him, and we can't outlast him. Helm, prepare a light-jump."

[We're just going to abandon the fleet?] asked the XO.

"What fleet?" The captain said bitterly. "Everything's being destroyed, and we can't do a single thing to help them."

"Jump calculated," said the helmsman.

"Make it."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"Sir?" said the helmsman. "Light-drive not responding. It says...it says we're too close to a planetary body."

With a start, De'Vij remembered the patrol ship that had flanked them.

"What type of ship is that?" he said, pointing to it on the screens.

"It reads as the _Surpriser_, a _Reprisal_-class patrol vessel." H'Shi'Do sounded depressed, and the captain felt like joining him.

The _Reprisal_-class was best known for local pacification and interdiction...because it had a gravity projector that would trip the safeties on all light-drive systems. They'd never jump while that was hanging over their heads.

There were multiple flickers of light across the viewers. The fighters, having gone too long without commands, were self-destructing.

Suddenly, the _Indefatigable_ began exploding from the inside, with the irkens never having touched her.

[Captain,] Janali called.

"I know," replied De'Vij. "The fighters I ordered prepped are exploding." And they were taking the _Indy_ with them. She was already crippled and listing, and her reactor was flaring. She was about to blow.

"Use our hull lights as signals. Use interspecies signals code," ordered the captain. "Signal our surrender."

Three minutes later, it was all over.

* * *

I originally wrote this on my iPad, mainly to pass the time while I waited for my laptop to stop burning my fingers whenever I turned it on. The story grew from there.

The cover image is 'The Irken Armada' by Infinidium of DeviantArt, used with permission.


	2. Running Freight

"Who names their formerly-secret rebellion 'the Resisty' anyway?"

Dextro Jains was reclining on his chair, nursing a coagulating mug of lukewarm javva. His head-crest was uneven, a sure sign that the merlunian was in a bad mood.

"I mean, we could have at least named it something cool," he continued. "You know, something like 'the Alliance to Restore Democracy', or the 'Freedom Fighters'. You know, something that says what we're about. 'Resisty' is a stupid name, any way you slice it."

Across the table, his wenstrissi copilot gave him a pointed look. She'd heard this rant before, and was in no mood to hear it again.

Dextro had evidently caught the look, as he dropped the subject and picked his cards up again. He turned over the next main deck card and put it on his grid.

"Plus two gives me twelve," he said, "and I'm playing a plus seven. Gives me nineteen."

Herris rolled her eyes. Typical smuggler swagger.

"Plus eight," she said, drawing her card.

"Ooh, that's twenty-six," he said, reaching out to rake in his winnings. "Closest to twenty wins, strike out at twenty-one, remember.?"

"I know the rules," she snapped. "I still have my hand to play. And I play _this_."

A minus six card landed on her grid, and she began gathering up the small notes she'd won.

"Not fair."

She ignored him, looking through the pile of paper scraps. Each one had a chore written on it.

"Well, this is a nice little pile of things I don't have to do," she said. "Supplies shopping, washing, dishes, making javva, making dinner..."

"I'm going up to the cockpit," Dextro said, mainly to change the subject. "Someone on this boat has to keep track of how far we are from Boorishi."

He snagged his hat on the way out, slamming it onto his head with more force than he needed.

"I'm ready to play again, when you're done sulking!" Herris cheerfully called after him.

* * *

The independent long-haul freighter _Sunrider_ settled onto the landing pad with a whine as her thrusters shut off and her landing gear took the ship's weight. However, if someone were to look closely, they'd realise that the landing gear wasn't half as overtaxed as it seemed to be.

That was because, like everything else, the landing gear had been heavily upgraded. After all, _Sunrider_ was only their cover.

They were actually the Resisty undercover vessel _Moonlight Stroll_.

A fake transponder, a lick of paint, a believable excuse, and the ship was near-enough unrecognisable. Perfect for the covert movement of Resisty personnel and supplies from system to system.

In the cockpit Dextro shut off main power with a jab of his thumb.

"Problems?" asked Herris.

"Apparently, Boorishi customs weren't impressed by my charm and wit. We've got a scanning crew coming aboard."

"We're not exactly carrying anything incriminating."

"Yeah, I know," he muttered as he stalked through to lower the main ramp. "It's just that they always go galumphing around in their great big boots and they ruin the carpets."

"Well, best bored cargo hauler expressions."

"Won't be much of a stretch," Dextro muttered as he hit the button and the gangway slid gently down.

* * *

As it happened, the scanning crew were less efficient than he'd thought. They didn't arrive until five minutes later, they fed him the usual military lines and he acted the part of the impatient freighter skipper.

Their cargo manifest didn't exactly jump out as suspicious. They were carrying two PKL-ZX Manufacturing heavy load lifter robots, spare parts for assorted vehicles and twenty crates of disassembled Arctos water purification pylons. Exactly the kind of haul that arrived in this spaceport every day.

As a result, the scanners were sloppy. They ran the usual customs and security scans, checked for illegal cargo or explosives, and then just walked off. They stopped only long enough to approve the datapad he shoved at them, meaning the cargo was safe for delivery.

And so it was that the pair found themselves sitting in a small bar/cafe combination beside the spaceport, waiting for their local contact to arrive. All they had to identify him was a species, that they should wait for him to approach them, and a pair of code words to be slipped into a sentence.

A small, pale vortian slipped into the chair across from them.

"Ah, you're here," said Herris. "We've been waiting for an eternity." 'Eternity' being code word one, code for 'we're the smugglers'.

"It can get like that, can't it?" the vortian said. "The seconds ticking away."

Both smugglers relaxed. 'Ticking' was the code word for 'all clear'.

"Anyway," their contact said, "I'm Thriss. I believe you have a delivery for me?"

"Not here," Dextro replied. "Let's go somewhere more...pleasant, if we're going to talk business."

* * *

The safe house for the Boorishi cell was located in a small, two-story apartment. It was about halfway up the building, had a private landing pad for skycars and had clear sight lines to the north and east.

It was a middle-income district. Families, public servants, university staff. It had clean, well-lit corridors and rooms. It was moderately luxurious. In short, it was the last place that planetary security would ever think to look for a sleeper cell.

Thriss led Dextro and Herris over to a small table overlooking the north window. Three other beings were already sitting around it. There was a sky-blue hypurion, sprawled in a chair with her tentacles twitching. Opposite her, a damasii was sitting bolt upright, his fur standing on end in an expression of mild surprise.

But all of Dextro's attention went to the large reptilian felician taking up an entire couch on the far side of the table.

"Any problems?" the felician asked.

Thriss darted forward. "Nothing serious," he replied, taking a seat. "Captain Horvath, may I introduce Dextro Jains and his copilot, Herris Storichi." He nodded to each of them in turn.

Horvath sat in silence for several seconds. "Told you not to use my rank, rook," he said. Then he turned to the smugglers. "This is Malilee and Ley'Fra." He gestured to the hypurion and the damasii in turn. "You've already met the rookie."

"Yes," Dextro muttered noncommittally as he took his seat next to the vortian.

[Horvath is always a little serious,] Malilee said. [Welcome to our little corner of Boorishi.]

"I understand you have some important equipment aboard?" said Ley'Fra, with more eagerness than Dextro expected.

"Indeed," said Herris, sitting down. "We're carrying the vehicle parts you need to get the scrapped fighters and the old ambulance flying again, we have the water pylon parts you can make bombs from, and we have two load lifter robots with combat upgrades and subroutines."

"Very good," Horvath said, but Dextro cut him off.

"That's not the big news, though," he said. "There's an irken heavy cruiser in the system, and the word is that she's planning to 'interdict' one of the local planets."

And just like that, the mood went very sour.

Irken 'interdiction' was the polite way of saying that the fleet were going to blockade a planet or system for as long as they felt like, ostensibly to search for rebels but in practice it tended to be used for intimidation and to keep their crews from being bored.

Horvath seemed to digest this information. "We'll need to shift some of our stuff off-planet," he said. "We can unload your ship, we've got storage space. But we've got some stuff around here you definitely don't want to be caught with."

Dextro nodded. "Assuming the stuff can be moved relatively discreetly, have it shifted to the cargo bay. We're listed as the _Sunrider_. Bay fourteen."

"There's one other thing," said Ley'Fra. He pulled a datapad memory driver from a pocket. "This absolutely has to be taken back to Resisty command."

"Sure," said Herris, taking the driver. "We allowed to ask what's on it?"

[Black box data from carrier group seven,] said Malilee.

"We'll get it to the Commodore, won't we Dex?" Herris said.

"Sure." Dextro tipped his hat. "We'll load the stuff tonight, we'll be on our way out tomorrow morning, and nobody will ever know we touched down."

"What about us?" Thriss asked, looking worried. "If they _are_ coming here..."

"We're not a target, we aren't on their ladar, and if we're attacked we can disappear," said Ley'Fra. "We're a _sleeper_ cell, remember? We haven't done anything that anyone could trace, and we won't until we're activated."

"Sounds like all you need to do is fly out again tomorrow," Horvath said. "We will handle the cargo transfer. Just be ready to leave." He got up from his seat, and his two-and-two-thirds meter frame filled all the available space. "I see no reason we should risk meeting again."

"Agreed," said Dex. "Pleasure doing business."

* * *

The _Sunrider_ was climbing out of the atmosphere along a very specific course.

The cargo switch had gone seamlessly, and as far as the customs officers were concerned they were an empty freighter heading back out to the far rim.

Word had come through the previous evening. The sleeper agent inside planetary control had gotten a tip-off that the cruiser _Dominator_ would be entering orbit that morning for an interdiction op.

So they'd use what they knew. Boorishi defence used old dual-band sensors for high-atmo monitoring. The advanced stuff was only good for orbital scans. This setup meant that there was a tiny sliver of sky where you were completely undetectable.

They'd slip in and change their transponder signal, then jump out before anyone wised up.

It was a good plan, in theory. It seemed to go all right in practice, too. Right up until a high-energy plasma bolt shot past the cockpit window.

"What was that?" Dextro shouted.

"Weapons fire," replied his copilot, baring her fangs. "Are they on to us?"

"Not irken weapons," he replied. "Local thugs maybe, or hired guns?"

The attacking ship swung around again, and this time a second ship came up from below at the same time.

"Six more on sensors, closing in an encirclement pattern," Herris said.

"I recognise that nose art," said Dex. "They're part of the Copperheads."

The Copperhead Pirate Conglomerate was a fairly powerful group out here on the fringe. They ran two-thirds of the sector's organised crime. They were classified as targets to the irkens, and they often turned in Resisty ships for a bounty.

"They must have spotted us changing our transponder," muttered Dextro. "They know we're a smuggler, and that we wouldn't swap our transponders in-atmo unless we were carrying something they could steal."

"Apparently they know about the sensor gap too," Herris replied. "They're jamming all transmissions back to the planet."

"Not outwards?"

"No, but there's no help out there. No other freighter in this system will go up against the Copperheads."

Then Dex got an idea.

"Head back and run up the main guns," he said.

* * *

The pirate squadron leader swooped in, his interceptor's nose cannons barking in the thin atmosphere.

The freighter they were pursuing was a fairly cumbersome mid-bulk style, one deck, six cargo pods around a narrow shaft with engines at one end and a bridge at the other. But he was wary. Most smuggler vessels were upgraded.

The ship he was shooting at proved this point by executing a textbook drop loop to evade his strafing run, a move designed for a ship half that size.

He rattled off several commands in the umbrakii trade language, ordering the six incoming fighters to form a constraint helix around the ship while he and his wingmen brought it down.

* * *

"All guns online," Herris said over the comm. "you've got our main cannons, while I've got the turret."

"Right, do we have a plan or do we just start with the biggest?"

"You focus on that big fighter to port, I'm going to try something cute."

The enemy fighters had taken up a position behind them, forming two rings and firing constantly to keep them contained. It essentially trapped them in a cylinder of plasma fire.

And then Dex fired the two aft cannons, perfect twins of the pair on the bow, directly into their lead fighter.

While they knew smuggler ships ran armed, they clearly weren't expecting this level of firepower. The lead ship blew apart. The others presumably called for reinforcements, because more ships began to appear on the edges of the ladar map.

The fighters also drew closer together, to begin overlapping their shields. And that was just what Herris had been waiting for. She held her fire, waiting for the obvious next move.

And they didn't disappoint. They shifted all their shield power to their nose, inevitably rendering their aft shields near-enough nonexistent.

"Perfect," she said. "Dex, dune bug roll, now."

The dune bug roll, also called the 'dip and wriggle', was a straight ventral drop followed by one trick or another. Smugglers liked it because everyone knew it and it was very adaptable.

And as Dex suddenly skewed sideways across the sky, there was a brief moment when the back ring of fighters were visible past the front ring's shields.

Herris was ready, and fired a heavy double-burst directly into the engines of the back ring's lead fighter. While not enough to destroy it, one side had suddenly lost engines, resulting in a violent swerve.

And as it swerved it was still firing its part of the encirclement cone, meaning that it raked the weak aft shields of the front ring.

A full half of the front ring's fighters were destroyed instantly, and the rest peeled off. Dex took advantage of the distraction to vaporise another two.

Then, without warning, he turned the ship and began burning sky for the spaceport, going back the way they came.

"What's going on?" Herris shouted into her headset.

"Check the orbital screens," Dextro replied.

She glanced at them, and then bit back a curse. Sitting proudly in the middle of the space lanes was an irken _Superior_-class battlecruiser.

* * *

When he saw the ship hanging almost directly over his head, Dextro's first instinct was to run away.

Then his brain caught up to him.

"Shut down the guns," he said. "The last thing we need is for them to do a power scan and see this level of kick-arse on a simple freighter."

Then he tapped his broadcast comm button.

"Emergency!" he said, broadcasting to everything in range. "Incoming freighter _Booster Rocket_ requesting assistance from Boorishi planetary defence."

The locals wouldn't respond, he was still in their sensor shadow. But if they were following standard procedure, the irkens would be monitoring everything.

"Freighter, please state your cargo, destination and emergency," said a clipped military tone.

"Medical team and relief supplies from Kar'Midu, to assist with a recent groundquake at Karrabish Station. We're under attack - I think they're pirates."

"Understood, freighter. Hold your present course."

"But if I-"

Dex never got to finish his half-hearted protest. Behind him a group of heavy cannon shots rained down, blowing six of the fighters to dust.

This time they got the message. The fighters broke off. Some dove for the safety of the surface, while others tried to get past the cruiser and light-jump. Not one of them made it.

One by one, the ship's battery eliminated every enemy fighter flying. It was systematic, calm, logical. Textbook for the irkens on board.

"Many thanks, shipmaster," Dextro said over his comm. "Glad to see the Empire is taking the pirate problem a little more seriously than the locals."

"You are welcome, freighter," a new voice said. "Now turn around and go home."

"What?" Dex demanded, trying to sound both confused and shocked. "But if we do that-"

"That's an order, freighter. This planet is now under Imperial interdiction. Return to your point of origin and wait for the transport blocks to be lifted."

Dex fought to keep a smirk off his face. Sometimes, particularly clever and perceptive people could hear a smirk over a comm channel. Not that this particular irken appeared either clever _or_ perceptive.

"On our way out, sir," he grumbled, then he turned for space and gunned the engines.

"Won't they notice us leaving on the wrong vector?" asked Herris as she came into the cockpit. "And what was that about a groundquake?"

"There actually was a groundquake out at the station," he said. "It was in the news. They called for aid, but it turned out not to be as bad as they thought. And as for the vector, we're meeting at Bibnlia. Kar'Midu is on almost the exact same vector, just about half the distance."

"And how did you know the broadcast would work? They could have passed it up, or worse, boarded and searched us."

"Not a chance. Just because they fly around in big fancy ships doesn't make them smart. They're here to hunt rebels, not harass shipping. Once we were inbound, the only question was whether the shipmaster would feel like giving his gunners some target practice."

"Nice work, Dex," she replied. "Plus, it's always nice when we get to obey an Imperial order for a change."

Three minutes later, the disguised _Moonlight Stroll_ made their light-jump and were away.


	3. The Battles Between Battles

The _Sovereign_'s war room security was not exactly up to code.

The war room on any ship in the irken fleet was supposed to be secured at all times by two armed irken marines.

Irken marines were supposed to be the toughest, scariest, most heavyset irkens around, and were meant to represent some kind of ideal.

Bal and Mux, however, were not exactly the best marines around.

Mux was a short, unlikeable blabbermouth, who seemed to be several sizes too small for his armour and who seemed incapable of standing still for any length of time. Unfortunately, he was the only marine aboard who could be spared for war room duty.

Apart from Bal, that is. Bal was almost the exact opposite. He was almost as tall as the shipmaster and ridiculously well muscled, to the point where he had difficulty walking when out of his armour. He was strong, proud, brave, loyal...and as smart as a sackful of hammers. It made him ideal for his current post, because he was too thick to talk your way past.

It was this exact trait that was giving sub-master Colmaj some trouble.

"You are not authorised to access this area," Bal rumbled. It was the forty-third time he'd given that answer.

"I am your sub-master. I can go anywhere I like on this ship, which means you will now open that door."

"You are not authorised to access this area."

"Open the door!"

"You are not authorised to access this area."

"You should probably give up," Mux interjected. "He's not going to change his mind, at least not for a few hours."

Colmaj gave an exasperated sigh and stalked off. "I can see why you two pulled this job," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Inside the war room, there was an argument going on.

The room was designed as a three-tiered circle, designed to allow the entire sector fleet to meet via hologram. Shipmasters sat in the outer ring, with fleet masters in the inner ring, and the centre was reserved for the sector governor, Fleetlords, and Observers.

Battlecruiser shipmaster Tharl of the _Superior_ was glaring daggers across the room at viral tank shipmaster Chat'as of the _Stormrage_, who was striking epic poses in a ridiculously misconceived attempt to reinforce his argument.

"So you are saying that this 'Resisty' movement is too much for the fleet to handle?" Chat'as was pontificating as hard as he could.

"No," Tharl said acidly. "They are a threat to _your_ starfleet, shipmaster, _not_ to ours."

"As _I_ recall, it was the _defence_ fleet, not the expansion fleet, that the upstart Lard Nar was able to get past. How can you make such grandiose claims when you couldn't even keep your own flagship safe?"

A new voice entered the argument. "Enough," it said, not shouting yet carrying the weight of command.

Both shipmasters instantly fell silent. Fleetlord S'pool was, after all, not someone you wanted to be angry at you.

"Your bickering is pointless," he continued, "a diversion we can Ill afford. To end this insurrection, all of us will be needed." He gave an arm gesture, yielding the floor. "Observer Carapace, your report."

Carapace stepped forward. "Masters, my lord, this has grown beyond a mere uprising," he began. "It may have started as a revenge attack for the taking of Vort, but it is now a full-scale hostile power. While they are not legitimate, and are still rebels, they can no longer be approached the same way as the average uprising."

"In this, we concur," the Fleetlord said. "The Resisty has grown too large to be dealt with by a single task force. We must consider moving to a full war footing."

This caused a murmur to spread around the room. While the Empire was always invading someone, this was just considered the aggressive expansion of their borders, almost a form of colonisation. For the Empire to actually go to war...it meant a lot of things had to happen.

"I will be returning to Irk shortly," S'pool continued, "and once I am there I will make preparations to call a Conclave. There, the matter of the Resisty will be decided."

Another round of murmuring. A Conclave meant a gathering of all twenty Observers, the thirty senior Fleetmasters, the five Fleetlords and the Tallest, plus a direct communication with the Control Brains. Conclaves were only called when there was no other choice.

"You cannot be serious," said fleetmaster Min'jj of the _Demolisher_. "A Conclave, over a few rebels? I think you are overstating things, Observer."

"Do you not use your brain for anything but bluster?" the Fleetlord said. "The fleet that was destroyed said that they were the seventh full carrier group the Resisty has thrown together. Even if there are only seven such groups, that is enough firepower to engage an entire quadrant. And our intel says there are far more than seven carrier groups in the Resisty navy."

"Indeed," added Carapace. "They have enough ships and crew to engage the star fleet directly. The only reason you did not lose your own battlegroup, Fleetlord, was because I intervened."

"This is not a negotiation, masters," said S'pool, sounding very final. "It is a notification. Now, dismissed, all of you. Carapace, a moment."

All of the holograms, save for S'pool's own, dissipated.

"Are you sure about this, Observer,?" he asked. "I'm risking a lot for you on this. A full Conclave? The Resisty had best be worth the trouble."

"They are," Carapace replied. "Of this, I have no doubt."

* * *

Fleet Admiral Cwmbran of the Resisty, First Master of the Navy, Commander-in-Chief of Resisty Armed Forces and member of the felician warrior caste, dropped his head onto the table with a very loud thump.

He was sick of this. Just sick of it.

The two people sitting opposite him were representatives from two neighbouring systems that happened to be at war, and each of them was partitioning the Resisty for membership as protection from the other as much as the irkens. Naturally, this meant they opposed each other's membership.

The Birrahi were offering their engineering and technical skills, while the Marruah were offering the promise of fresh soldiers. Both were things he desperately needed.

As it was, they were too deeply engrossed in arguing with each other, disguising it by addressing all their arguments to him of course, to notice that he'd stopped listening and had evidently given up on both of them.

As a result he was extremely grateful when his communicator went off. "Quiet," he said, loudly enough to be heard over the racket the diplomats were making. He held up a hand, ignoring the chirp of protest from the Marruah representative, and flipped the communicator open.

"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt the meeting," said the rather flustered lieutenant on the screen. "It's just...well...we've got a lead on the irken who destroyed De'Vij's carrier group."

"No need to apologise, lieutenant," Cwmbran said. "I was about to quit anyway. I'll be up to the war room in twenty rels."

He closed the communicator.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to adjourn this meeting," he told the dignitaries. There was a brief squalk of protest from the Birrahi, but he fell silent the moment Cwmbran glared at him.

"Here's the new deal. We can easily protect both of you. We need your resources. But this feud is getting us nowhere. So, while I'm gone, you two will work out between yourselves which one of you will join the Resisty. If you are still arguing when I get back, you're both being sent home empty-handed. Is that clear?"

There was no clear response, but both ambassadors were looking at their feet, so that was a start.

"Good," he said, and walked out, tugging his blue uniform back into shape as he did so. He had bigger fish to fry.

* * *

The CIC of the recalii dreadnought _Independance_, flagship of the Resisty navy, was bustling with activity at all hours of the day. As a result Cwmbran was hardly surprised to find it crowded. What did surprise him was the noise level.

The bridge and CIC were usually restricted to officers, yet there were a large number of crew and petty officers in the crowd around the communications station.

Flag captain Radnor was sitting in the command chair, trying to keep some measure of control. First lieutenant Ewloe was standing by the holomap, while fourth lieutenant Serri was sitting in the tactical station with her headphones making her completely oblivious to the crowd around her.

"Quiet!" the admiral shouted. The room instantly fell silent.

Cwmbran took a few steps into the room, and straightened to his full height. Like many of his species, he could be very imposing when he wanted to be.

"Everyone who isn't allowed in here, please get out."

Most of the crowd flowed past him and out the door, leaving only his CIC crew at their posts.

"Now," he said as the doors hissed closed behind him, "will someone please give me a status report?"

"It's this news from commodore Hakin, sir," said Ewloe. "This talk of an Observer has them on edge."

"What Observer?" asked the admiral.

* * *

Observer Carapace was sitting in his quarters, which were currently filled with hypurioni artwork. It was mostly sculpture, but there was an occasional canvas and a piece of their music was playing softly in the background.

To the _Sovereign_'s shipmaster, it was all just abstract, and he'd just said so. And now he was seriously regretting it. Most Observers weren't fond of subordinates who spoke their minds.

Carapace sighed. The shipmaster braced himself...

"Then I shall have to educate you," he said. The shipmaster started to breathe again. "Take this piece," Carapace continued, gesturing to a strange, rippled slab of wall-mounted stone. "This is a typical hypurioni wall tablet, dating back around eight hundred rotations. What can you deduce from it?"

The shipmaster stared at the artwork. He thought about it. He stared some more.

"They were big on ripples?" he hazarded.

"Close. Waves, actually. Even if I knew nothing about the hypurioni themselves, I could surmise that they were at least partially aquatic. I can also judge their number of limbs, their perspective of the water." Carapace turned to look at the tablet. "Computer, isolate object six and display in original setting."

The room changed. The tablet was now the only thing in it, mounted on a tiled wall. Light played over the surface from an unseen skylight or lamp above, creating strange patterns in the ridges and curves of the tablet.

"Now what do you see, shipmaster?"

The shipmaster wasn't very cultured. He had the same education in art that most irkens got (that is to say, not much).

"It seems...nice?"

Carapace chuckled.

"This piece, shipmaster, is one of their greatest treasures. It is a representation of the sea surface from below. It is currently sitting in some archive on Irk, waiting for one governor or another to decide they want it. And with that one sentence, shipmaster, you have shown you would be a better owner than any of them."

"How does your art help find a species' weakness, sir?" asked the shipmaster.

"Always to the point," muttered the Observer. "Very well, shipmaster, I will demonstrate." He gestured to the tablet. "This piece shows me what they think of as beautiful. Knowing a piece and its context helps me understand how they think, how they perceive. My advice for successful strategy, shipmaster, is to learn psychology."

He stood up and flicked a control panel. The room returned to its unadorned state, sterile and military.

"After all, if you can make your opponent _think_ the way you want, then the battle becomes a mere formality."

* * *

Dextro Jains tossed his plus-four onto his grid and sat back, only a tiny part of his mind on the game.

He was thinking. He was calculating how long it would be before they made landfall, he was memorising his lines for the next drop, he was going over his escape plan in case things went wrong.

But mostly he was thinking about his wife.

"Plus-three gives me seventeen," said Herris from across the table.

Dex tossed down a plus-two and went back to thinking.

When had he last called her? It must have been...five...no, six standard lunar cycles back. He'd wanted to tell her about his work with the Resisty, that was it. But when the moment came, he'd changed the subject.

He'd comm her after this job, when he could get a secure connection.

Across from him, Herris hesitantly put down a plus-one, filling her row and leaving her with eighteen as her standing total.

Dex picked up his draw card, threw something random out if his hand, and went back to thinking about his wife. If the irkens caught him, would she ever know what happened to him? _Menai, I'll be home soon,_ he thought to himself. _I promise._

"Dex? Dex!" Herris's shout brought him back to reality with a start. "You drifting out there? You won."

He glanced down at his board, and saw that his copilot was right. He'd scored nineteen, which beat her eighteen.

"Keep the winnings," he muttered. "I'm a little out of it."

He stood up and started walking out of the room, stopping only to grab his hat and mutter, "I'll be in the cockpit."

_Dex not wanting to lighten his workload?_ Herris thought. _Something's up. I'll ask him about it._ She eyed the pile of jobs on the table. _Later._

* * *

The _Massive_ always gave Observer Chitin a headache through sheer scale. Plus the fact that it was far too long to walk from one end to the other. He distrusted ships that you couldn't navigate when the power was off.

And for what? Snack tanks. A warship designed primarily to carry around copious amounts of junk food. The Tallest were lucky they weren't in the room, because Chitin was liable to throttle them if this line of thought continued.

He returned his attention to the argument breaking out in front of him in the _Massive_'s war room-come-conference chamber.

At present, governor Blark of the Skepsis sector had the floor, and was winding down from a particularly turgid speech about how this Conclave was all about an unsubtle power grab by Fleetlord S'pool.

"You see it, don't you? My masters and lords, I lay the accusation that this is all a sham, after which the Fleetlord will overthrow the Control Brains and rule us all with an iron fist!"

"If it was about power, governor, I wouldn't bother tipping you off first," said S'pool bluntly. "Besides, this is not me alone. Observer Carapace has supported this call to Conclave."

_This is the problem with Conclaves,_ Chitin thought. _They have to get everyone to attend first, and they always make it so damned political._ Still, he'd met Carapace before, and he seemed smart enough. A bit obsessive about his art collection, but a decent Observer.

"Then you act with the Tallest's support, then? They intend to _allow_ you to ascend and then rule over us with an iron fist?"

_You have to hand it to him._ Chitin stifled a yawn. _Once he has hold of a decent phrase, he doesn't let it go._ That had been the eighth use of the term 'rule over us with an iron fist' in the debate.

"Why would they possibly do that? I have no ambition to rule, and they're more or less figureheads as it is. Just keep them in a big ship and marinade them constantly in doughnuts and they're quite content to let us work as we will."

Well, that was certainly true. And it only reinforced Chitin's earlier thoughts on the ridiculousness of the _Massive_.

"Then you have persuaded them! Could you perhaps be bribing them? Poisoning them? Doing them special favours?"

Governor Blark was reaching with that one, and most of the assembled irkens knew it. Each and every one of those ideas were completely ridiculous.

That last one was particularly stupid. There were always covertly-circulated holos with ridiculous premises, and there was one featuring just about every member of the Imperial High Command. But no-one in the room would dare to admit that they'd read them.

Chitin himself had read every single one, of course. Purely in the pursuit of his duty.

Hang on...

"And where would you get such a wild idea?" Chitin said as loudly as he could while still remaining polite. "Items of poorly-worded propaganda, perhaps?"

The entire room fell silent and Blark looked excruciatingly embarrassed.

Everyone else in the room had read the same things, of course. But nobody wanted to be the first to admit it. Pride can be a funny thing. And a useful one.

"...I am merely pointing out that the Fleetlord has much to gain and little to lose by this. It would be the perfect time to-"

"Iron fist, Governor?" said Chitin icily.

"...Well, yes," Blark finished meekly. He knew he'd lost.

"On the matter of Comclave, I vote aye," said Chitin, and flicked off his hologram controls.

The room around him dissolved as the _Massive_ stopped transmitting.

Chitin smiled to himself. He had a few minutes to spend, then he'd return for the last of the votes. With the way the 'against' team had failed to argue their point, there was little doubt that a Conclave would go ahead.

That meant a war. And war was always good for business, as far as the Observer was concerned.

And once this meeting was done with, he'd go and spend a few minutes futilely telling the Tallest what was going on. Managing two figurehead rulers who had few concerns besides sugary foods was a thankless and infuriating job, but someone had to do it.

* * *

T'chilen was sitting at the helm, watching the ships and stars drift past. She'd turned off the auditory emulators, meaning that no sound reached the cockpit. Exactly the way she liked it.

Some days, she'd leave the emulators on, and listen to the roar of the nearby ships. Other times she'd wire some music to her earpiece. Irkens had little music besides marches, but she'd picked some up around the galaxy.

But today was a good day for silence.

T'chilen knew she'd never climb much higher in rank. Her attitude was all wrong, or something. Everyone kept saying how different she was.

_Different_. To irkens it was halfway to being a curse word. Everything about her was different, made her stand out, made her dangerous to get close to.

Even her name singled her out. The apostrophe denoting a 'core twenty' irken had followed her all her life. There had always been expectations, extra rules, extra watching.

The door behind her hissed open, throwing off her train of thought.

Observer Carapace slid into the copilot's station, located behind her and offset to starboard. The door hissed closed behind him, and she could hear the distinctive double-beep of a lock override activating.

T'chilen said nothing and kept staring out the viewport. So, he was here to talk about her attitude. At last. At least he had the decency to chew her out in private.

"What is it you like about the cockpit?"

Okay, that wasn't how she expected this to start.

"Is it the speed?" the Observer continued. "The feeling of a massive, semi-living thing responding to your every command? The knowledge that none of us could do our jobs without you?"

She decided to humour him.

"The quiet," she said, without turning around.

"Ah," said the Observer. Several moments passed.

T'chilen was slowly getting her pulse back under control. But it was hard, because new scenarios kept running through her mind.

"What's the most difficult move you've ever pulled off?" Carapace asked.

She didn't reply.

"Best moment in life? Favourite colour? Anything?"

She kept up her stubborn refusal to say anything. She was following standard procedure about talking in front of internal affairs people. Namely, 'don't'.

Several more moments went by in silence.

"Good talk," Carapace said, getting up. There was the double-click again as the doors unlocked, a hiss as they opened, and another hiss as they closed.

She waited until he was well and duly out of earshot, then ran a sensor sweep for listening devices. Then she relaxed.

"What was that about?" she wondered to herself, then went back to staring at stars.

* * *

Carapace was lying in his quarters, thinking. Very few of the crew had given him anything useful. Most seemed genuinely frightened by him, and the rest were too close-mouthed for him to try and find useful allies there.

The shipmaster had a bright future ahead of him, Carapace was sure of it. If he could learn to start thinking for himself he'd make a good fleetmaster, and possibly even Fleetlord. Not brilliant, but good. Curious, too. Eager to learn when the opportunity arose. Perhaps a career in intelligence? No, a waste of his talents.

The sub-master, Colmaj, on the other hand...now he was the kind of overinflated, shouty, arrogant irken who so often found themselves appointed as sector governors. It was a transition Catapace would be happy to expedite, preferably to somewhere far away where he would never have to cross paths with Colmaj ever again.

And the pilot. The pilot had caught his attention. She'd seemed more irritated than intimidated when he'd tried talking to her, and she'd given him very little in the way of conversation. She apparently had a track record of disrespect, pushing the boundaries all her life. There were two options with an irken like that. You either put them down hard or you gave them a high enough position that they essentially had no boundaries. Somehow, he didn't think either of those was going to work.

He'd think about it some more in the morning. For now, he needed to sleep. Besides, he needed his rest. He was going to talk shipmaster Tharl into letting him take the _Superior_ away from him. That would be fun.

And the _Sovereign_ was coming too, naturally. It was his personal property, after all. He was hardly going to leave it behind. It was central to his plans. Plans that, when they unfolded, would see the entire Resisty collapse on itself. And if he played his cards right, nobody would ever dare challenge the Empire again.

To win a war was standard fare for an Observer. To win _every_ war...now that was something worth any sacrifice.

* * *

Cwmbran, satisfied that he now knew what was going on, had called his senior officers to a meeting.

Opposite him sat Sergeant Major General Ruthin, his red marine's uniform contrasting with the blue coats the other officers were wearing. He was fiddling with the ribbons on his sleeve. Four laces in pairs, denoting his rank.

The rest of the chairs were filled by his captains and Post-Captains. The two were hard to tell apart at a glance, because the only difference in uniform was a small additional mark on their epaulettes. So, to make identification easier, the captains sat on one side of the table and the Post-Captains on the other.

"Will the fleet wardroom come to order?" Cwmbran said, allowing the last of the conversation to die away.

"I called this meeting because there have been rumours circulating through the fleet. These rumours are true. The seventh carrier group, attached to the Red fleet, was destroyed roughly nine days ago."

That caused the conversation to break out again, so he waited for it to subside before continuing.

"They were destroyed by a fleet with less than a tenth of their own effective strength," he said. "And it was thanks to one particular irken."

A hologram appeared.

"This is Observer Carapace," Cwmbran said. "He is brilliant, ruthless, completely calm and very, very dangerous. He seems to be in charge of hunting us down."

"Where is he now?" inquired captain Talgarth. "Why are we having a meeting instead of taking this guy out?"

"Because we can't take him in open combat," said the admiral. "I've spent the morning talking with the other admirals, and we are agreed that trying to take him head-on would be a mistake."

"Then what are we going to do?" said Post-Captain Risca.

"_You_ are going to stop worrying about him and go back to your ships," Cwmbran rumbled. "Leave the admiralty to worry about the Observer. Rest assured, we have a plan in the works."

He smiled thinly, a sight that looked odd on his reptilian features.

"Carapace will never know what hit him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have two irate ambassadors to argue with."

Carapace and the irkens could make whatever plans they wished. They could do anything, be anything. By the time they saw how the stage had been set, it would be far too late. And when their best laid plans came crumbling down, the universe would finally be free from the Irken Empire. Forever.

Now that was a dream worth fighting for.


End file.
